The moment I saw his face I knew something was wrong…
Missing was his smile. While another giveaway that things were amiss was his posture. His normal upright stance denoting self-assurance and confidence had been replaced with shoulder-sagging gloominess.
When I asked him what was up, my normally chatty friend mumbled, "I was just told that my mother died." I was stunned and saddened at the news. "What happened?" I asked. He told me his mother died in a car accident." He added, "A drunk driver struck her vehicle, and she was killed instantly."
I didn't know what to say other than utter a weak and inadequate, "I'm sorry." It was all I could muster. Then, after several seconds of speechlessness, I said, "I will keep you in my prayers." But this also seemed a much too feeble response to a devastating event for which there were really no adequate words.
I then stepped forward and gave him a big hug. Men who are incarcerated are notorious for not showing emotion. Pride and peer pressure cause us to try and shake off our pain and hide our tears. We're conditioned to suffer quietly while keeping our chins up. It's typical machismo nonsense, but this is us.
I gave him my condolences. He knew what I said was spoken with sincerity, and that my hug was genuine. But after our brief interaction came a minute of awkward silence.
We didn't have time to talk further, but what was said with words and also through body language said it all. My friend is grieving. He's in pain. He needs some space and privacy, and I am more than eager to give it.
I'll make it my business to see him, however, maybe in a day or two, or three. Then we'll talk. He may be more open at a later time. But if not, I will continue to wait. The main thing is that he knows I care.
D. B.
When I asked him what was up, my normally chatty friend mumbled, "I was just told that my mother died." I was stunned and saddened at the news. "What happened?" I asked. He told me his mother died in a car accident." He added, "A drunk driver struck her vehicle, and she was killed instantly."
I didn't know what to say other than utter a weak and inadequate, "I'm sorry." It was all I could muster. Then, after several seconds of speechlessness, I said, "I will keep you in my prayers." But this also seemed a much too feeble response to a devastating event for which there were really no adequate words.
I then stepped forward and gave him a big hug. Men who are incarcerated are notorious for not showing emotion. Pride and peer pressure cause us to try and shake off our pain and hide our tears. We're conditioned to suffer quietly while keeping our chins up. It's typical machismo nonsense, but this is us.
I gave him my condolences. He knew what I said was spoken with sincerity, and that my hug was genuine. But after our brief interaction came a minute of awkward silence.
We didn't have time to talk further, but what was said with words and also through body language said it all. My friend is grieving. He's in pain. He needs some space and privacy, and I am more than eager to give it.
I'll make it my business to see him, however, maybe in a day or two, or three. Then we'll talk. He may be more open at a later time. But if not, I will continue to wait. The main thing is that he knows I care.
D. B.
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